


The hot dog incident

by aello_np



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: #Smut, #lookingforwieners, #missing scene, Episode Related, Episode s06e09 Dog Eat Dog, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aello_np/pseuds/aello_np
Summary: Trying to solve a case, Greg comes up with an unusual way to find answers. Grissom mishears and offers help...
Relationships: Gil Grissom/Greg Sanders
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	The hot dog incident

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Der Hotdog-Vorfall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474070) by [aello_np](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aello_np/pseuds/aello_np)



> When I rewatched the episode (season 06, episode 09 "Dog eat dog"), I swear, I heard Greg saying "my" instead of "a". My imagination took off and this is the result. Ahem. It's not beated.
> 
> Enjoy reading and have a HAPPY NEW YEAR! (:

_Alternative title:_ Grissom goes looking for a wiener

***

Most of the time Gil Grissom loved his job. He loved studying and burrowing into things, doing research, finding connections. Having a badge that allowed him to get access to places he wouldn’t be able to get to otherwise was great. He loved bugs and beetles. Amazingly fascinating animals that usually were highly underrated, detested and bedevilled by society. In his job? Knowing what insect visited a body when, being able to identify the exact stage of their development was essential to ascertain the time of death of a victim. More than once his expertise had helped arresting a murderer. He loved being able to be in a position to call the shots, to assign cases to members of his team, and pick what case he preferred working on. He was one of the good guys, being very well paid to do what he loved. 

There were things, though, he didn’t like so much. The paperwork. Collecting evidence, processing it and connecting the dots was one thing. Editing a case for the district attorney or presenting a case at court to laypeople a whole different story. And he wasn’t exactly fond of the evaluations. Checking boxes and one line to scribble down the extract of a person’s behaviour, their progress and failures wasn’t really his thing. The Sheriff and Ecklie breathing down his neck over an important case. Politics. When the image of the police in the press, quickly announcing success was more important than doing the job properly. That he really hated. And most of all he didn’t like having to pretend he didn’t notice being hit on by one of his team.

Like Sara. Most of the time she’d just given him longing looks, which he pointedly ignored. And fortunately she’d given up trying to corner and engross him in conversation. 

Greg though, Greg was… different. Greg was coquettish, flirtatious. 

At first it had confused Grissom mildly. Not because he didn’t like getting attention from another man. He’d long come to terms with the fact that for him gender didn’t matter so much. It was the personality that attracted him, not the sex of a person. What bothered him more than a little was receiving that kind of attention from someone he was working with. He’d been there with Terry and he had failed terrifically. Despite all his flaws and the not so promising start, Greg had turned out to be a veritable CSI and Grissom was not willing to put the younger man’s career at risk. 

But Greg was seriously testing the limits of Grissom’s patience. He’d been quite the flirt when he was still a lab technician. He’d flirted with everything that was walking on two legs so Grissom hadn’t paid much attention to it. At first. Because he’d seen Greg flirt with Catherine and Sara, had witnessed him flirting with Jacqui, Nick and Warrick. But Greg hadn’t stopped there. As if being on a kind of mission, he’d also flirted with Hodges and _even Ecklie_. At that point Grissom had been convinced that flirting with was Greg’s usual form of communication. Like Ecklie’s was the permanent sour expression. Like asking “ _How are you_ ” when in fact you didn’t care, because it’s custom to reply “ _Thank you, fine. How about yourself?_ ”

And Grissom had grown accustomed to Greg’s flirtations and the easy banter. He thought it was nice, and it was much easier to deal with than Sara’s long, meaningful glances and the underlying silent appeals. 

He’d felt flattered and cajoled when Greg had told him he wanted to be a CSI, too. Not much later, Grissom realised that Greg had cut down on the flirting. Oh, Greg was still flirting. But not with everyone else, just with Grissom. And much to his own surprise he found himself bemused by the fact. Greg had always talked about blonde, busty women and Grissom thought that he was neither young nor attractive enough to be even close to what Greg fancied. He decided that Greg probably just wanted to impress or flatter him. He put it off as a much too foolish a notion to even consider Greg could be seriously interested in him. He was almost twice his age, his hair had turned grey and he lacked the two arguments that Greg seemed to be so fond of. 

Still, Grissom couldn’t help catching his thoughts drifting off to a certain young CSI in the morning when he went to bed and imagine what could be. Under different circumstances. 

Then Thanksgiving came and the body that was found in the dumpster. Grissom sat in his office after talking to Hodges who’d analysed the content of the victim’s stomach, checking Hodges notes if there was another angle, a hint they hadn’t considered yet, when Greg entered his office, two huge paper bags in his arms. His hair had grown, making him look even more boyish and younger. 

“I went shopping,” he announced proudly as he stepped closer. “Bought every brand of hot dog for sale in Las Vegas.” 

“Who’s paying for it?” Grissom asked, trying not to think of how it might feel to ruffle Greg’s soft blond hair.

“You mean the lab’s not going to reimburse me?” Greg stared at him, dumbfounded.

“No.” There was no way he could possibly justify and approve these expenses. If he’d sign the papers and submit the receipts, all that Greg got in return would be a copy of the expense manual. Most likely he’d get a reprimand from Ecklie, too, for even trying. And a lecture about that you couldn’t just hand in any receipt just for the sake of it. 

“Why? I couldn’t identify the brand mark so I figured I could physically match one of these to the ones found in the victim’s stomach. You know, maybe comparing the twisty thing at the end.”

Grissom looked up from his notes. He liked the way Greg approached a problem. He was creative, and didn’t hesitate to try new ways to find a solution. “Sounds like a good idea, Greg. I’m still not paying for it.”

“Fine,” Greg pouted and looked terribly disappointed. “I guess I’ll just eat hot dog for the rest of the year.” He sighed.

“A hot dog at the ballpark tastes better than a steak at the Ritz,” Grissom quoted. 

“Well, I can tell when you’re quoting,” Greg said and slumped down in the chair in front of Grissom’s desk. “Who said it?” 

“Humphrey Bogart,” Grissom replied. “Did you know that the term hot dog was actually coined at a baseball game?”

Greg shook his head and Grissom gave him a smug grin. He liked the way Greg was soaking up things he told him. And Grissom liked telling anecdotes, because he liked the way Greg used to look at him when he did. He was never really quite certain why there was such a sparkle in Greg’s eyes when he listened. Whether it was because of the story or because of the person who told it. And he didn’t dare dig deeper into it.

“New York Polo Grounds somewhere around 1867,” Grissom began. “A German butcher was selling what he called “Dachshund sausages” out of his pie waggon. He put them on a roll so the customers wouldn’t burn their fingers. He’d yell out “Get your Dachshund sausages, they’re red hot.” Soon all the vendors at the Polo Grounds were selling them, too. But they were too lazy to say Dachshund sausages, so they just called them hot dogs.”

“Hm,” Greg sighed. “And now there’s over 50 major brands.” 

“Good luck, I’m rooting for you,” Grissom tried to cheer the younger man.

“Well, hopefully I’ll find my wiener,” Greg said, trying to sound casual, but Grissom was certain, there was that sparkle in his eyes again. Greg shrugged, got up and left Grissom’s office. 

Grissom shook his head and turned to the papers in front of him on the desk again. But somehow his concentration was gone. He caught himself reading the same paragraph again and again while Greg’s words still rang in his ears.

What had he said? _“Hopefully I’ll find my wiener.”_ No, impossible, Grissom told himself. He must have misheard that. Greg had said _“a wiener”._ Or hadn’t he? Hadn’t he smirked on the way out? And arched a brow suggestively?

Grissom slowly took off his glasses and sat them down on his desk, rubbing the back of his nose. He probably was hearing and seeing things, he scolded himself. Fancying a subordinate, and Greg basically was that, at least legally speaking, was a stupid idea. Greg was half his age. Despite all the flirting Greg certainly wouldn’t be interested...

And still… 

Curiosity winning over, Grissom pushed back the chair and got up. There was only one way to find out, he told himself and headed after Greg. 

He caught sight of Greg in the corridor, heading for the lab. 

“Greg,” he shouted and the younger man turned around. 

“Changed your mind about the reimbursement?” Greg asked and his expression lit.

“No,” Grissom said, grabbing Greg’s arm and pulled him along towards one of the storage rooms. He glanced over his shoulder, but the corridor was empty. He opened the door and pushed Greg inside. It was a very small room, used to store all sorts of things from paper towels to the utensils of the cleaners. Broad shelves on three walls took up much of the room, there was barely enough space for two people to stand facing each other. 

“What’s up?” Greg hung onto his bags, watching him slightly irritated. 

“I need to have a word with you,” Grissom said, his expression serious. 

Greg frowned. “Here in a storage room?” He backed up against a shelf.

Ignoring Greg’s question, Grissom stared at the younger man intently, as if he was trying to read his mind. “Have you been flirting with me?”

Various expressions washed over Greg’s face, while his cheeks slowly turned pink. “I, I,” he stammered and averted his eyes. “What if,” he paused, and swallowed, as if realising he’d already said too much. He shifted the bags in his hands, cleared his throat and licked his lips, then he looked at Grissom. He looked nervous, uneasy. “I mean, why do you want to know?”

A tiny smile tugged at the corners of Grissom’s mouth. He’d seen and heard enough. He had been right, he decided. Greg had been flirting with him. _Flirting_ flirting. Not just… flirting. 

He stepped closer, and suppressed a smirk when Greg was nervously shifting, when realisation dawned upon him that he couldn't go back any further, because he was already leaning against the shelf. 

“You know, I haven’t changed my mind about the reimbursement,” Grissom said, moving closer another step. 

“No?” Greg asked suspiciously. 

“No,” Grissom nodded. “But when you left my office, you said something.”

Greg’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Did I?”

“Yes, Greg, you did,” Grissom said. “First I thought I misheard, but I am quite sure you said that you were hoping to find your wiener.”

Greg’s long lashes fluttered as Grissom moved yet another step closer. “And?”

“Well, I thought maybe I could be of service anyway.” He arched a brow at Greg. Greg blinked. Then frowned. Grissom nearly laughed out loud. He could practically see the cog wheels in his head turning and trying to figure out whether Grissom was pranking him or if he was being serious.

“And how would you do that?”

Grissom moved closer until their noses were mere inches apart. He put his hand on Greg’s chest, slowly sliding it down to the waistband of his jeans. With a deft motion he pulled down the zipper of the jeans and undid the button. Leaning forward, he rubbed his cheek against Greg’s.

“Well, I could help find your wiener, for example,” he whispered. “When you obviously don’t know where to look for it, maybe I could.”

“Fuck,” Greg groaned. A second later the brown bags fell to the floor, packages of hot dogs spilling all over the floor. Greg’s hands went to Grissom’s head. “I thought you’d never catch-” he started, but Grissom’s lips, pressing against his silenced him. 

***

Heavily panting Grissom fell back into the sanctity of his soft pillow and tried to calm down his ragged breathing. Greg, who was lying next to him, was panting no less. 

“Damn, if I’d known,” Greg panted.

“Known what?” Grissom asked and slowly turned his head. 

Greg had folded his arms behind his head, a fine sheen of sweat glistening on his chest. He laughed softly and turned his head. “If I had known you’d be interested I would have cut to the chase ages ago.”

“Hm,” Grissom hummed. 

He still had no idea how he’d made it through to the end of the shift after he’d confronted Greg in the storage room. One moment they’d kissed, his hand around Greg’s cock, the next moment Greg had come all over his hand. He’d just tucked Greg’s spent and softened cock back into his briefs, zipped his jeans back up and used some of the paper towels to wipe clean his hand, when a loud sound outside in the corridor disturbed them. In no time they’d collected the packages from the floor and stuffed them back into the paper bags. Outside, Hodges was engrossed in a discussion with Sara, and miraculously they managed to slip out of the room unnoticed, and back to work. 

Grissom had been utterly distracted, and horny. They hadn’t really had the chance to talk, and he had no idea what that scene in the storage room had been. One off? The beginning of something? Or was it the end? At the end of the shift Grissom had been so morose, he’d decided to burrow himself into work and just ignore it. But Greg had found him in his office and demanded a repeat. Not that he’d had any objections. Still in his office, he’d make Greg come a second time, this time on his knees. 

The mattress shifted and Greg moved closer, placing one arm possessively around Grissom’s middle. He placed a soft kiss on Grissom’s chest and slid a knee between his thighs. Grissom groaned, Greg was already half hard again. 

Greg laughed and warm breath ghosted over Grissom’s chest. 

“You know, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, when you walked into my office and asked for reimbursement,” Grissom admitted. He’d definitely underestimated Greg and his libido. 

“Really?” Greg asked and with sharp teeth tugged at Grissom’s already abused, sensitive nipples. 

He had not, Grissom admitted to himself. He’d been absolutely clueless. Totally and utterly fallen for Greg.

Greg lifted his head, a sweet smile on his lips, but an adventurous sparkle in his eyes. “You know, if you need a break, to,” he made a theatrical pause and arched a brow, “regain your strength… how about a hot dog?”

Grissom groaned. _He was going to pay_. He was so going to pay for his foolishness and recklessness, reimbursement or not. 

_ Finis _


End file.
